


So Much Like Disaster

by redwildsparkles



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Antagonism, Dancing, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings Are Really Confusing, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Sparring, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4527405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwildsparkles/pseuds/redwildsparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cassandra recruits Cullen Rutherford for the Inquisition, she isn't prepared for how she's going to feel about him. (Now complete!)</p><p>Chapter 9: Cullen says, “Are you asking me if I still feel the same way now?”<br/>Chapter 10: “Is it atonement if you received help from so many to do what you couldn’t have done alone?” Cullen asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crusaders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How much easier it is,” Justinia concludes softly, as she releases them. “To lead a crusade, than to love another person.”

**Chapter One: Crusaders**

Kneeling on the cold stone floor of the Chantry, Cassandra waits. Beside her, Leliana keeps her spine very straight, her expression rapt. Cassandra does her best to give the same impression.

Morning devotionals. The three of them take turns leading them. Cassandra is glad that on this monumental day, it has fallen to Justinia.

The Divine raises her spectacles, brings the Chant of Light close to her face. Some days she holds it off at arm’s length, on others she performs a combination of the two.

“Justinia doesn’t actually read the Chant anymore, you know,” Leliana said to Cassandra loftily once. “She has it all memorized. And her vision is not as bad as she makes it seem.”

“Why the charade, then?” Cassandra asked.

“So that others underestimate her.”

“But why keep it up in front of us?”

Leliana snorts. “Everything takes practice,” she said, as if this should be obvious.

This morning, peering over her spectacles, Justinia clears her throat and reads, “Maker, make me an instrument of Your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.  
  
“O, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love; For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; it is in dying that we are born again to eternal life.

“The Chant of Light.”

“Amen,” Cassandra and Leliana chorus.

“Ladies,” Divine Justinia says. She rolls her shoulders back, drops the air of formality. Smiles. “I will miss my Hands while you are in Kirkwall. May your meditations on today’s reading guide you there. Never pass up on an opportunity to do good. Serve without expecting anything in return. Love all, without seeking to be loved yourself. For love is all that the Maker would have us do. I pray the Inquisition will always be guided by that. Without love, we are nothing.”

She gives them a shrewd look, adding, “And don’t quarrel too much along the way.”

Leliana says, “We’ll try not to,” just as Cassandra says, “We won’t.” The other woman stiffens, while Cassandra scowls.

Justinia chuckles. “You know I would not send you out together unless I thought you would need each other. Still, you always make me proud.

“Rise,” she says, and Cassandra and Leliana stand quickly. “I will pray for us.”

They join hands, and Justinia prays. “How much easier it is,” Justinia concludes softly, as she releases them. “To lead a crusade, than to love another person.”

* * *

 

“The passage Justinia read was a good choice for today,” Cassandra says, because Divine Justinia’s goodness is probably the one topic they don’t argue about. They’re standing at the docks, waiting to board the ship to Kirkwall.

“Yes, it was a good choice.” Leliana sighs. “Maker knows, no one needs to hear it as much as us.”

* * *

 

Kirkwall is seamy, bloody, and defiant. The city traffics slaves, crushes the defenseless, exploits the poor, and keeps its secrets well. As Cassandra had feared, they have no luck finding Hawke. Dragging out one of her former associates, a dwarf named Varric Tethras, is no picnic either. When she goes to interrogate him, he infuriates her to the point of cruelty. Hardly the start to the Inquisition Justinia would have wanted.

They can’t wait to leave. Besides, they are almost at the date they hoped to sail back. But they have still one more errand to accomplish before they return.

The Knight-Commander – interim Knight-Commander, she is informed with a sniff – has been out of office, suppressing revolts along the southern border. She would have liked to approach him sooner, but this will have to do.

As Cassandra makes her way through the city, she hears Divine Justinia’s voice in her head.

_Let the Maker be your vision. Lean not on your own understanding._

_Do not ask Him to look upon your righteousness, for we have none to our names. The one who prays, “Maker, have mercy on me, a sinner” is the only one who stands justified._

_If you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall._

_And don’t grunt like that, Cassandra Pentaghast. You are a woman, not a horse. When you’re as old as I am, you’ll understand that things can sound trite and still be true._

Taking a deep breath, Cassandra enters Knight-Commander Cullen’s garrison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justinia reads from The Prayer of St. Francis.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you think!


	2. Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Very well, then,” Cullen says. “If I meet the love of my life in the next three days, she’ll know which ship I’m on.”

**Chapter Two: Chaos**

After an hour’s wait with nowhere to sit down, Cassandra is shown to Knight-Commander’s office. The name on the door is still Meredith Stannard’s, Cassandra has time to note, before a soldier opens the door for her and she enters.

There’s an explosion of paperwork in the room – stacked on chairs, piled on the floor, hanging out of cabinets. She can see at least three different filing systems crammed haphazardly into this room, evidence of discontinuous, fractious administrations.

Even so, the first thing she notices is the tall figure behind a desk, standing when he could be sitting. His hands white-knuckled on the spread of papers in front of him. Neatly attired, blonde hair combed. When she gets closer, she catches the clean scent of aftershave.

He smiles at her, and the shadows under his eyes seem to lift for a moment. “Knight-Commander Cullen,” Cassandra says quickly.

Before he can do something even more disarming.

“Right Hand of the Divine. Seeker Pentaghast,” he says. She is gratified to hear respect, but not fear, in his voice. “We are honored to receive you in Kirkwall.” He crosses quickly around his desk and pulls out a chair for her. “To what do I owe this visit?”

She furrows her brow. “A missive was dispatched to you some time ago. Was it not received?”

He sighs and rubs his temples. “I’m afraid not. I suppose there’s no keeping it from you – we are in a state of chaos. Worse than even I knew, to have misplaced a letter from such an important source. It was kind of you to attempt to send notice, but if you would be willing to speak directly now, I would be glad to give you my attention.”

“Good,” Cassandra says, nodding.

_Very good,_ she thinks. The story about a missing letter is an old trick of Leliana’s. Cassandra doesn’t like the ruse, but she’s gotten good at deploying it, and she can’t deny that it gets results fast. Previous subjects have done all kinds of things – frantically begun searching through their files, called in their subordinates and yelled at them, lied and tried to play along. “Don’t think of it as deception, Cassie, if it bothers you so,” Leliana had said sweetly. “Think of it as subtlety.”

Watching Cullen closely, Cassandra says, “The Divine has been attentive towards you for some time. She is impressed with your conduct. Your perseverance at Ferelden’s Circle. The way you stood up for the mages, against the former Knight-Commander.”

Pain fills his eyes. “Meredith had gone too far. I was a fool not to see it earlier. And Kinloch was a massacre. I am not worthy of the Divine’s esteem.”

“It is not lightly given.” But she allows his self-assessment to stand, and he knows it.

After a moment’s pause, he says in a quieter voice, “The Divine is sympathetic to mages?”

“She wishes them to have fair treatment. She will be overseeing the talks at the Conclave, as you have probably heard.” She paused. “Which brings me to the purpose of my visit.”

* * *

 

“The Inquisition,” Cullen repeats softly, when Cassandra has explained it as succinctly as she can. “It sounds like something out of an old tale.”

“It may never be quite as grand as that,” Cassandra says dryly. “Justinia intends it as a last resort to keep the peace, should talks at the Conclave run aground.”

He frowns deeply. “But you’re already recruiting leaders, and you were looking for Hawke. You think disaster is imminent.”

“Yes.”

After a pause, he lets out a long sigh. “So do I.”

He rubs his forehead.

“Kirkwall is overrun. I had hoped to do what little I could here, but I am well aware that my position is temporary. I was too close to Meredith and her legacy. As soon as the powers that can replace me with someone else, they will.”

He looks her in the eye. “I would be honored to join the Inquisition. I have just one request.”

“Go on.”

“I know you said we would have to leave as soon as possible. However, I would like to properly settle my affairs in Kirkwall before I leave. After that, I will gladly depart with you.”

Cassandra frowns. “Normally I would consider this a reasonable request. However, we are almost at the eve of the Conclave. We do not have much time.”

He is quiet for a moment, thinking. “Three days, counting today. I must see that my work gets handed over well.” He smiles wryly. “Besides, word would get around. I’ll not let it be said that the Inquisition took on a runaway.”

Three days. It would put them on a very tight schedule. Cassandra almost decides against recruiting him right there and then. There were other candidates in Kirkwall.

Still, Justinia had made it clear that Cullen Rutherford was her first choice. And he had seemed promising so far…

Then it hits her. Foolish of her not to have thought of it before. “Are you married, Knight-Commander?”

He coughs. “Uh, no. And please, call me Cullen.”

“Cullen, then. Let me rephrase what I meant to say,” Cassandra says. “You are welcome bring someone to Haven with you, if you wish.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

“The offer stands,” Cassandra tells him, after they’ve set a time to meet at the docks.

She wouldn’t be entirely surprised if Cullen arrived with a companion in tow. Nothing but the prospect of separation will get some couples together; she’s seen happen often enough.

_Besides,_ one part of her mind suggests, _no one with any sense would let a man like him go so easily. Then again, if he’s not the marrying kind, three days is just enough time to say goodbye._

His voice brings her back to the present moment. “Very well, then,” he says. “If I meet the love of my life in the next three days, she’ll know which ship I’m on.”

She blinks. His answer surprises her. A flash of humor, a glimpse of the man he must have been before.

He gets to his feet, holds the door open for her. “Thank you. I will see you in three days, Seeker.”

“Cassandra,” she says.

“Cassandra.” He inclines his head in a slight bow. As he shuts the door behind her, she catches sight of that smile again.

As she leaves the garrison, Cassandra tries to occupy her mind with thoughts on how to rearrange their travel plans, and how to break the news of their delayed departure to Leliana.

She sighs. At least Justinia would be pleased. She always liked the cute ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you think!


	3. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I could never be sure if Meredith was listening,” Cullen says. “When someone you’re close to becomes someone you can’t trust at all…”

**Chapter Three: Confessions**

The whole of the long voyage back, Cassandra can’t spend five minutes in Varric’s presence without wanting to strangle him. For everyone’s sake, Leliana offers to step in.  That, quite naturally, leaves Cassandra and Cullen together.

Long after Kirkwall has vanished out of sight, Cullen is still trying to rid himself of it. They stand at the railing along the uppermost deck, letting the cold sea spray wash over their faces, and she listens as he tries to take ownership of his past. The ways he willfully overlooked the mistreatment of the mages in Kirkwall. The many times he went along with Meredith’s brutality, encouraged it, even, and passed it off as honorable service. The blazing hatred he’d harbored towards mages, a poison, and how he’d twisted Templar teachings in his mind to justify it…

Initial revelations never go deep. They are picking at scabs, feeling their way to the source of the infection. She grants him every opening. She waits.

* * *

 

The piece about mages comes into view first, obliquely, when Cullen suddenly says, “Years ago, I was rather infatuated with one of the mages at the Fereldan Circle. You may have heard of her.”

She raises her eyebrows. “The Seekers do not keep track of every mage in Thedas, any more than the Templars do.”

Then he says her name, and Cassandra bursts out laughing.

“The Hero of Ferelden?” she says, when she can get her breath back.

It brings a rueful smile to his lips. “I know. She was entirely out of my league.”

The story becomes less funny when he begins to delve into how the Circle was destroyed. How he watched as every one of his fellow Templars fell. How they used visions of her against him, trying to break into his mind.  “Forgive me,” Cassandra murmurs. “I shouldn’t have laughed.”

“On the contrary,” he says, keeping a straight face. “Now that I’ve started to joke about it, it’s the least you could do to laugh.”

* * *

 

Mostly, though, he is gloomy, beset with regret. She tries to rally him. “I do not care where you have faltered – only that you stand here now. You left the Templars behind. Forge your own way ahead.”

She knows it’s working later when tells her, “The Inquisition is my chance to atone. I will see it through.”

He thinks he has come to the end of his self-sufficiency, he thinks he is going to make a fresh start. But she knows that if she isn’t careful with him, he’ll have much farther to fall.

That he comes across as so infallible, so strong, so damnably charming is precisely the difficulty.

“Disillusionment means that there are no more false judgments in life,” Justinia used to say, during their morning devotionals. It was a teaching she repeated often. “To be undeceived by disillusionment may leave us cynical and unkindly severe in our judgment of others. But the disillusionment which comes from the Maker brings us to the place where we see men and women as they really are. And yet, there is no cynicism, we have no stinging, bitter things to say. Many of the cruel things in life spring from the fact that we suffer from illusions. We are not true to one another as facts; we are true only to our ideas of one another…”

“I hope you haven’t minded being my confessor,” Cullen says to Cassandra at present, shyly. “I stopped going to confession in Kirkwall. Meredith had spies everywhere. I could never be sure if she was listening. When someone you’re close to becomes someone you can’t trust at all…”

She waits for him to say more about Meredith. When he doesn’t, that tells her something too.

* * *

 

“Enjoying your little chats with Cullen?” Leliana asks, as they turn in for the night. They have the luxury of a tiny cabin to themselves. Leliana flips a coin, though they both know she rigs it to have whatever she feels like having. Tonight Leliana claims the top bunk.

Cassandra says reproachfully, “He has been through hell.”

“Some girls like that in a man,” Leliana remarks brightly.

Cassandra frowns. “Don’t flirt with him, Leliana. That is the last thing he needs.”

“I never said anything about me,” Leliana says sweetly. She blows out the candle and leaves Cassandra to her thoughts, which are far more tangled up than they were a moment ago.

* * *

 

Just hours before their ship is due to arrive at the port, Cullen approaches Cassandra again. “I have been thinking about what you said. I want to dedicate myself wholeheartedly to the Inquisition. For that, I must break the Templars’ last hold over me. I wish to stop taking lyrium.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “You ask a difficult thing of yourself.”

“Out of necessity, nothing more.” He looks her in the eye. “I would ask something of you as well, as a Seeker. Please don’t tell anyone else. I don’t want them to treat me differently.” His jaw flexes. “And if I am failing, do not allow me to go back to lyrium. Remove me from my post.”

Casssandra is torn. On the one hand, it seems risky to install such an unstable man as the Commander of the Inquisition. On the other hand, this could be a damaged man’s best chance at becoming whole again.

In the end, she does what she believes Justinia would have done. She agrees.

* * *

 

“Forgive my rudeness,” he says presently. “You’ve had to listen to me talk so much about myself, and I don’t know the first thing about you.”

She raises her eyebrows. “What would you like to know?”

“Hmm,” he says, pretending to think. “Are you married, Cassandra?”

She throws him a suspicious look, but he shrugs, unfazed. “You asked me first. It would be remiss of me not to return the favor.”

She regards him levelly. “I am not married. My time is better spent serving the Divine.” Never mind what Leliana always says – that one can always find time for other kinds of service on the side.

She’s relieved when he doesn’t pursue the subject. “What has that been like?” he asks, curiously. “Serving the Divine?”

“It has been more than an honor to serve Justinia. With Divine Beatrix, I was little more than a glorified bodyguard. She valued me for my fame as the Hero of Orlais, and for my connections to royalty in Nevarra. I was not discontent to serve her that way. But I am so much more to Justinia.”

“You’re close, then.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Not exactly.” She tries to think of how to explain it to him. “Divine Justinia is a friend to Leliana, but a mentor to me. She judged it best in our individual situations. It is good to have someone to look up to.”

“I know that well,” he says, smiling. “There’s nothing Templars revere more than hierarchy.”

She laughs. “I have heard that. In this case, your faith will not be misplaced. Divine Justinia is a great woman.”

“I look forward to meeting her,” he says.

* * *

 

He never does. They make it just close enough to the Conclave to be thrown backwards by the blast that kills her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justinia’s words on disillusionment are by Oswald Chambers.
> 
> I'm so glad to have you as a reader! And thank you so much to everyone who's been reviewing!


	4. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A word of advice, Cassie,” Leliana sniffs. “Don’t disclose that you need a man to tell you how someone is feeling.”

**Chapter Four: Bruises**

They had wanted Hawke to lead the Inquisition. Instead, they got the mysterious lone survivor of the Conclave. A much younger woman. A mage.

It occurs to Cassandra that Cullen, given his history, might be uneasy about her. They are overseeing the soldiers’ training one afternoon in the courtyard when she asks him, in a low voice, “How do you find our new leader?”

He considers his answer before he speaks. “She’s committed to closing the rifts, plus she’s the only one who can. For now, those are qualifications enough.”

Cassandra nods but says nothing, letting the silence stretch out. After a minute, Cullen cracks. He asks, quietly, “Do you believe she’s the Herald of Andraste?”

Cassandra frowns. “What is the Herald of Andraste?” she asks. “A title born from whispers and rumors, on which people have hung their own idiosyncratic hopes. She was not the one who came up with the idea. She is not even sure what she really saw at the Conclave.”

He doesn’t let her evasion slip by. “But what do you believe?”

She sets her jaw. “That all things are divinely ordained, and the Maker has a purpose behind them.”

He hesitates for a moment, then asks, “Even Justinia’s death?”

The question strikes her like a blow. She replies sharply, “Even that. Does that satisfy you?”

Cullen looks grave. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I know you cared for Justinia deeply. I only asked because… Leliana seems to be taking it so hard. I wondered if you had some comfort for her.”

“I do not,” Cassandra says curtly.

But she thinks about how she and Leliana have barely spoken since the explosion at the Conclave, at the start of all of this. Perhaps that has done more harm than good. “Still,” she says, “I will go see her. Thank you for prompting me. At the very least, Leliana will appreciate your concern.” _That is, if she’s not too busy scorning it,_ Cassandra thinks to herself, as Cullen nods and takes his leave.

Late that night, Leliana is still sitting up in her tent, a haunted look in her eyes. Cassandra doesn’t know what to say to her, but she brings a votive candle, and the two of them light it together in silence. The scent of embrium fills the air. By candlelight, they take turns reading some of her favorite passages from the Chant of Light. For a short while, it is almost – almost – as though she is still there with them.

It is the first time either of them has found a way of expressing for their grief. At the end, they even embrace, fleetingly. Strange, Cassandra thinks, that she should finally find solace with Leliana, of all people.

And that Cullen, who barely knows them, might have called it.

“By the way, Cullen asked after you,” Cassandra says, curious to see how Leliana will respond.

It’s as she imagined – Leliana only sighs, dramatically. “What a good Chantry boy.”

 “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Cassandra says with a smirk.

Leliana sniffs. “A word of advice, Cassie.” She only uses the nickname because Cassandra hates it so much. “Don’t disclose that you need a man to tell you how someone is feeling.”

* * *

 

Leliana’s comment smarts. But it does make Cassandra think twice about how much she’s begun to depend on Cullen, even if it is mutual. He built on the training regime she’d developed for their soldiers. She brings her greater knowledge of Orlais and Nevarra to their discussions of tactical strategies, which mostly begin over the evening meal and sometimes continue on late into the night. Since coming to Haven, Cullen has settled in well. The troops respect him; better yet, she can tell that they like him. He is the mercy to her severity; between them, they get more out of their forces than either of them could do alone.

One afternoon, after dismissing the soldiers, he says to her, “I feel as though I’ve neglected my own training. It’s rather hypocritical of me. Would you be interested in a bout?

She agrees. They face away from each other for a moment, choosing practice swords with blunted edges. When they turn to face each other again, she can’t help but let out a snort of laughter. She’s donned an extra layer of padded armor, while he’s taken off his shirt.

She calls out, “Feeling the heat already?”

He laughs sheepishly. “It was the custom in Kirkwall to fight this way.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh? When Seekers train, we hit as hard as we’re able. I suppose that when Templars train, you like to work on your tan?”

“Quite right,” he says, not missing a beat. “Enough talk. Hit me as hard as you can. If you can.”

* * *

 

He’s good – surprisingly good. Naturally those hard, lean muscles didn’t come from nowhere, but she wouldn’t have expected such a strong fighter, very much in his prime, to have been made an administrator. Either Kirkwall had a poor estimate of his abilities, or he was even better as a leader than he was as a fighter.

He’s stronger than she is. He could overpower her through brute force alone, and does for the first few rounds. She’s furious when he switches his approach, not willing that he should go easy on her. She sharply increases the tempo of her swings, pushing herself much harder than she ought to just in training – with a full day’s work ahead of her still, and having to ride out with the Inquisitor tomorrow – but she’s gratified to see him straining, breathing hard, concentrating fully. She wins the next few bouts. It spurs him on to start trying riskier moves, in an attempt to catch her off guard. With fresh determination, she succeeds in knocking his weapon out of his hands, a favorite move of hers that doesn’t succeed often.

Instead of trying to retrieve his sword, as she knows Templars are taught to do, he charges at her and kicks her hard in the kneecaps. She staggers, and that’s when he slams his full weight into her, knocking her backwards onto the ground.

She still has her sword, but he’s in the perfect position to crush her throat. At the last moment, he throws himself to one side, in effect tripping himself up to land awkwardly, heavily, half on top of her. She lets out a choked cry as the wind is knocked out of her.

The next moment he’s back on his feet, panting hard and stammering apologies. “I’m so sorry – are you injured?”

“Just bruised,” she assures him, knowing she sounds far from convincing winded. “Don’t apologize. We were both spoiling for a good fight.”

He holds out his hand to her and, unthinkingly, she takes it. She regrets it as soon as he pulls her straight up to her feet, far too quickly. Her vision constricts, and black spots flash into view. The world topples over sideways. She doesn’t even realize she’s falling until she feels him catch her.

“Easy,” he says, his voice low and serious.

She struggles out of instinct. “I can stand.”

“I believe you,” he says. “But sit for a minute. For me.”

He settles onto the ground beside her, mercifully giving her space. Her vision is already normal and the brief dizziness has passed, but both of them welcome a chance to get their breath back.

“When I was five or six,” she says after a moment, “I was out with my brother Anthony – watching the clouds, or something like that. When it was time to go home, I stood up too quickly and tumbled down a hill into a huge pile of horse shit. Anthony laughed about it for days.”

Cullen smiles. “He sounds like a good man.”

“He was.” He notices the catch in her voice that she still can’t hold back when she talks about Anthony, all these years later. “I would prefer not to speak of him now. Perhaps another time.”

Cullen nods. As they walk back, he says, “Your form was impeccable.”

“As yours was unorthodox.”

He smiles. “I’m not a Templar anymore.”

“Maker help us all.”

Emboldened, he ventures, “Would you like to do this again? Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time tomorrow,” she says, and his smile widens.

Back in her room, she sits down and puts her head in her hands. This time, the lightheadedness and the fluttering in her chest don’t go away.

* * *

 

Even after the Inquisition moves to Skyhold, and their forces double, Cassandra and Cullen keep up their sparring sessions as often as they’re able. They test each other’s strength, striking at each other’s weaknesses punishingly hard. Her technique improves. At least that’s what she tells herself when she sets out time and time with the Inquisitor, aching and bruised.

In time, Cullen tells her about his family in rural Honnleath, the pranks he and his siblings played on one another, and how shocked his parents had been when he’d told them he wanted to be a Templar instead of a farmer. She tells him about Anthony, about Nevarra, and what it was like being raised by an uncle who kept corpses under the cellar stairs. The difference in their backgrounds couldn’t be starker, yet they have somehow led them to see eye to eye today. They talk about everything.

“I miss reading,” he says one evening. “One good thing about Kirkwall was that it had excellent libraries.”

“I have a few books I could lend to you,” she offers.

He takes her up on it readily. They go up to her room, and he heads straight over to her selection of books, small but carefully collected. “Hmm. _Swords and Shields_.” He tilts his head to one side. “By Varric Tethras. The one and the same?”

She blushes. “It’s terrible.”

He chuckles. “Is that an unbiased opinion? Perhaps I should see for myself.”

“No! I – haven’t finished it yet,” she lies. “Would you like to borrow some poetry instead?”

What a stupid thing to say. But to her surprise, his eyes light up. “I’d love to borrow some poetry.”

He examines another title. “ _Carmenum di Amatus?”_

She feels her face grow even hotter. But Cullen only says mildly, “I’ve never heard of that one. I’m not as well-read as you, I’m afraid.”

He touches the spine of the book beneath it. “I have wanted to read _Sonnets from the Nevarran_ for some time.”

“Feel free to borrow it for as long as you need,” she says, and he slips it out of the stack. Holding her book, he pauses.

“What?” she asks.

“You keep your books on a stool.”

“So?”

“You only have the one stool. Where do you sit?” He looks around the room. “Maker, Cassandra, where do you sleep?” He eyes the bedroll folded up in one corner in disbelief.

“You don’t have a roof,” she retorts.

“You don’t have a door. Or walls.”

“You don’t have stairs. You climb up to your quarters through a hole in the floor!”

“And it’s so difficult to use a ladder,” he says dryly. “Cassandra, you allocated yourself the poorest living conditions in Skyhold and you know it. Don’t the smiths wake you up with their hammering?”

“I am awake before they come in,” she says, and he groans.

That evening, she finds him trying to get a bed through the narrow door of the smithy. She protests. “Four nights out of five I’m not even here.”

“Knowing you’re more comfortable one night out of five is enough for me.”

She looks it over. It’s the same make as the one she had installed in his quarters when he arrived, a narrow single bed. “Fine,” she says.

He grunts. “Don’t just say ‘fine,’” he says. “Help me get it up the stairs.”

Leliana doesn’t hesitate to offer her opinion. Cassandra finds her in her room later that night, lying on the bed. “This is a nice gift from Cullen,” she said, running her hand across the sheets. “Someone knows better than to waste time with subtlety when it comes to you.”

Cassandra tells herself that Leliana would say anything just to get a rise out of her, that there’s no point in wondering if what she’s saying has any truth to it. She turns her back on the other woman, wishing for the first time that she had more in her room so she could busy herself with it now.

After a minute, Leliana’s voice comes floating up again, like a voice in her head. “By the Maker and Andraste, Cassie, just sleep with him and get it out of your system. Let the fever run its course.”

“Stop it,” Cassandra snaps, irritated that Leliana has gotten the better of her again, like she always does. “It’s not like that.”

“Aha!” Leliana says at once, bouncing up and grinning. “What is it like, then? Is it _serious?”_

“It isn’t anything.”

“Ooh,” Leliana says. “It is serious.”

“Get out.” Cassandra crosses her arms tightly. This has gone on for long enough. “Don’t you have more important things to do?”

Apparently satisfied, Leliana finally stands up and saunters out. At the top of the stairs, she pauses for a parting shot. “Sweet dreams, Cassie,” she says, and slips out before Cassandra can throw something at her, like an ogre, or some other senseless creature who can so easily be taunted into violence. _It wouldn’t be the first time with Leliana,_ Cassandra thinks bitterly. _And it probably won’t be the last._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Always happy to hear from you, it makes my day!


	5. Estrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cassandra,” Cullen says, his voice low and inviting. “If I quarrel with you next time, will you dance with me again?”

**Chapter Five: Estrangement**

Over the next few days, Cassandra tries to tell herself that continuing to meet with Cullen in his office is perfectly harmless. It’s bigger than her room. It’s a professional space.

But a larger and more professional room means nothing when you’re sitting so closely together that your shoulders keep touching. She knows she should move, but she’s grown to feel comforted by the familiar smell of him, leather and clean laundry and the other scent she that thought was aftershave, only she can’t help but notice the fine shade of stubble along his jaw…

She tells herself it’s nothing more than her traitorous mind concocting ridiculous daydreams. Distracting her from the actual perils they face every day. They’re only thoughts, imaginings of the sort that any woman would have in the presence of such an attractive man. She can retreat anytime.

Even when it feels like she’s still falling.

* * *

 

One night in his study, Cullen is deep in thought. “This morning, I realized that that it’s been exactly two months since the explosion at the Conclave.” He leans forward in his chair. “I don’t know why I hadn’t thought to ask before, but you must have known many who were there.”

“Several of the Templars. A few of the mages.” She bites her lip. “One of them was a friend of mine from a very long ago. His name was Regalyan.”

He thinks for a moment. “Regalyan D’Marcall? The mage who was with you when you saved Divine Beatrix?”

“Yes.”

Very gently, he asks, “Were you more than friends?”

“For a while,” she says numbly. “I wasn’t aware that all of Thedas knew.”

“No, I didn’t hear it from anyone. I just always thought…” He looks awkward. “Circumstances being what they were…”

“Circumstances change,” she says, not disagreeing. “I just thought I’d at least have the chance to say goodbye to him. But we did not part on speaking terms.”

That had been her fault. She’d been young and naïve, and in a few days Galyan had gone from being a threat to seeming perfect in her eyes. High on their victory, she’d thought found the man she wanted to be with forever. After they’d slept together a few times he began to pull away. By then, she’d fallen in love with him, and she took her first heartbreak hard. Using the influence of her position as Beatrix’s Right Hand, she’d seen to it that Regalyan, along with all the other mages, received scant recognition from the Chantry for their efforts. She regretted it soon afterwards, but the damage was done. She told herself she’d never get involved with someone so close to her again. But that was no help to Regalyan, who, ever ambitious, was deeply bitter to have not received the acclaim he felt he deserved. They’d quarreled fiercely and almost come to violence the last time they saw each other. Even so, she’d never stopped keeping tabs on him. Some part of her had never let him go.

She doesn’t like to think too closely about why she’s thinking of Regalyan now, with Cullen watching her in the firelight. She changes the subject quickly.

* * *

 

But her suspicions and fears become more concrete a few days later. As part of her preparations to leave with the Inquisitor to meet Grand Enchanter Vivienne, she’s in the stables to check on her mount. “Your horse is looking well, isn’t it?” the horse master says, passing by.

“Yes,” she says, surprised to hear him boasting. He doesn’t seem the type. “Thank you, Herbert.”

“Don’t thank me.” He gives her a significant look. “Commander Cullen’s been dropping in for the past few weeks. Putting in a little extra care.”

“The Commander?” She forces a laugh. “He must be relieved to find order somewhere at Skyhold.”

“I’d say it’s more than that,” Herbert says slyly. “Never heard of a man taking care of a lady’s horse just because he was, ah, relieved to find order.”

He winks at her. She knows he means no harm, but can’t help feeling outraged.

“You don’t know the place he came from,” she says, as coldly as she can muster. Herbert says nothing as she walks out. She has been too harsh, she thinks, making a mental note to apologize to him later. Until she hears him laughing, and knows she’s just being ridiculous.

Maker knows she never pledged herself to a life of chastity, as Justinia did. Oddly enough, Leliana toyed with the idea for a while. Now it’s Leliana who has affair after affair, while Cassandra has been out on her own. Until now.

She feels a rush from her heart to her head every time she thinks about the way she’s noticed Cullen looking at her. She has his attention now, of that she can be certain. Naturally, that’s flattering. But she’s had the attention of plenty of men over the years and never had any trouble turning them down. Why should Cullen Rutherford be any different?

Why, indeed, should Cullen Rutherford be anything to her at all? But it’s too late to ask that, when they’re already balanced on the cusp of change. They will ride high on the wave until it breaks and everything has to fall apart. She dreads and desires it at the same time.

All this when she hasn’t even allowed herself to fall, not fully. Though even if she hasn’t, it’s just a short step from wishing she would. She can see the damage that would result, as clearly as she can see the pleasure she’d take in getting there.

* * *

 

The last straw comes at the Winter Palace. One moment, she’s carefully making her rounds, particularly watching Grand Duchess Florianne, who seems suspicious tonight. The next, all she can see is Cullen, blushing as red as his jacket in the main hall. Surrounded by a throng of female admirers.

“Are you married, Commander?” one masked woman asks.

“I’m… married to my work,” he stammers.

“Still single, then?” the woman says archly.

The other women all giggle. Cullen looks away – straight at Cassandra. He blushes still darker. But a moment later he pulls himself together. “Seeker Cassandra. Might I have a word?”

She casts a scornful glance at the crowd of women. “If you’re not too busy.”

“Excellent,” he says, apparently too flustered to hear what she said. “Please excuse me, ladies. Good evening.”

He leads her to a corner of the room, which is far from private but an improvement nonetheless. Cassandra follows him, folding her arms.

“I’m sorry to have involved you like that,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know how else to get away from those people.”

“Those people are not your concern,” Cassandra says, making no attempt to keep her voice down.

She turns on her heel and leaves him there. She can’t reprimand him more specifically for neglecting his duty. Especially since he wasn’t, not particularly. Blending in with the other guests in the ballroom where he could keep an eye on Celene was significantly better than what she’d been doing – standing out in the annex, sulking.

_Behaving like a jealous…_

The Inquisitor passes by, dancing with Blackwall. She quirks an eyebrow at Cassandra, who just looks away.

If she makes it through this night, Cassandra thinks, she will have to talk to Cullen. About what, she can’t bring herself to think.

All her life she has been brash and impulsive. “I see what must be done and I do it” – isn’t that what she told the Inquisitor? Didn’t she join the Seekers at the age of six, begin at Divine Beatrix’s Right Hand before she was twenty, pledge herself wholeheartedly to the Inquisition without a minute’s hesitation? What is the matter with her now?

* * *

 

At the end of the evening, Cullen finds her standing by a window, trying to clear her head. Trying to stay away from him, for reasons she still can’t articulate.

They make small talk for a few minutes. Cassandra says disgustedly, “It is absurd that the party is still carrying on.”

There is amusement in his eyes. “Should it stop now, now that the danger is past?”

He has a point. “I suppose not.”

He chuckles. “You foiled an assassination tonight. You deserve to enjoy yourself a little.”

“What ideas you have,” Cassandra says dryly. “Perhaps next you will be asking me to dance.”

Just like that, Cullen bows. He extends his hand, and says with the manners of a perfect gentleman, “Would you like to?”

She can hardly believe what she just said out loud. “I most certainly would not like to dance,” she bursts out, loudly enough that several people jump. As she storms off, she can see that one of them is the Inquisitor, another is Leliana. Of course they both know she’s lying.

\--

She overreacted. He probably just meant it as a joke. It doesn’t even matter. Does it? She’s gotten so good at arguing with herself that she’s forgotten which side she’s on.

When she’s taken a few deep breaths, she strides up to Cullen, trying to wrest back some semblance of her dignity. “Could I speak with you?”

He glances around. “Of course. Would you like to step outside?”

She nods gratefully. They walk out onto a balcony, and for whatever reason, the people who were standing there drift off, leaving them by themselves.

Cassandra says the line she’s practiced. “I want to apologize for my outburst. You were only trying to be gracious, and I was exceedingly rude to you.”

“I wasn’t offended,” he says. “I should be the one apologizing to you. You’d just made it clear what you thought about parties.”

“Not parties in and of themselves,” she says, frowning. “Just the pretense that goes on beneath the veneer. All these people donning masks and smiling and plotting to ruin one another.” She waves a hand towards the ballroom. “Deception shouldn’t look so beautiful.”

He gives a rueful shrug. “What can we do but admire it when it does?”

Inside, the music starts up again. They can hear it faintly from where they stand, breathing in the cool night air. Before she can lose her nerve, Cassandra holds out her hand to Cullen. “May I have this next dance?” she asks, looking him straight in the eye.

He shakes his head, though he looks bemused. “I don’t need a pity dance, Cassandra.”

“I do not offer pity dances,” she snaps. “I simply do not wish to end this night on a quarrel.”

He smiles then, and takes her hand.

She knows what happens next; she had dancing instructors as a child in Nevarra, lessons in all the different styles. But she isn’t prepared for the warmth of his palm on the small of her back, how it makes her long to feel his hands all over her, melting her into his touch. They’d been in closer contact, sparring, but they’ve never moved together the way they do tonight. She hears his breathing quicken, and her heart beats faster in her chest. She leans closer. Her cheek brushes against his, and the light scrape of his stubble is enough send shivers running through her whole body. Everything she knew about him before has been eclipsed completely by the raw desire she feels for him tonight.

“Cassandra,” he says, low and inviting. She shivers, and he presses her ever so slightly closer. “If I quarrel with you next time, will you dance with me again?”

“I do not dance,” she says breathlessly. Her voice half seduction, half uncertainty.

He chuckles, a low murmur in his throat that makes her heart skip a beat. “What do you call what we’re doing now, then?”

_A lapse. Or a mistake. One that I shouldn’t be enjoying this much._ “An exception,” she whispers. His breath catches. When the song ends, she breaks away from him and quickly walks away.

* * *

 

Neither of them says a word to the other the whole way back to Skyhold. She’d genuinely meant to confront him about what’s been going on between them, but that was before they made it worse.

Some part of her still imagined that she’d see him in their usual spot the following morning. They’d oversee the troops, spar, and go to lunch together as though nothing was wrong. They wouldn’t have any awkward conversations about things that shouldn’t have happened. Feelings that could prove to be disastrous.

But he doesn’t come to the courtyard. He does send a runner, who leads the troops in their drills for the day. She lingers, hoping against hope that he’ll come in person. But they’re all exhausted from Halamshiral, and surely he has other things to do. She doesn’t think too much of his absence. At least, she tries not to think too much of it.

Two days go by, and he still doesn’t appear. She goes for walks around Skyhold, thinking that perhaps she might simply run into him. Finally, when she’s looked everywhere else and can no longer pretend she isn’t searching, she goes his office. He’s sitting at his desk, looking anxious. Diminished.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says flatly, not looking up at her.

She lowers her voice. “Have the symptoms worsened?”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine. Please excuse me, Cassandra. I need to focus on my work.”

If she were braver, she’d talk about what they’re not talking about. Apologize for sending confusing signals, even if it’s only because she’s so confused herself. Ask him what makes of all of this. Instead, she accepts the exit he’s offered, shows herself out.

* * *

 

Two weeks pass. Cullen stops confining himself to his office, but there’s no question that he’s trying not to be around her. When she isn’t away with the Inquisitor, she sets up training dummies in the courtyard and eviscerates them, one after another. Making sure he knows she’s there. In two minds about whether she wants him to approach her or not.

At last, the night before she is to leave for a long trip to the Emerald Graves, he finds her in the mess hall, finishing her dinner.

“Can we go for a walk?” he asks haltingly, and she nods, equally tongue-tied.

They wind up on the battlements, overlooking the courtyard. He stops precisely at a point where they can be seen from below but not overheard. A public place, but not too public. A light wind is blowing from the west.

They watch the people passing by below for a few moments. Then Cullen says, “There’s something I need to say to you.”

“Then say it,” she says, more forcefully than she intended.

“I am grateful to you for bringing me to join the Inquisition.”

She waits.

He takes a deep breath. “I realize it must not have seemed so for the past two weeks. I have been short with you, I have avoided you. You must have noticed,” he adds, fumblingly.

“I have,” she says. Her voice sounding too high and uncertain to her ears.

“Cassandra,” he says, and she looks up to see his expression full of yearning. Her heart starts to pound in her chest. “Since the day we met, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. On the night that we danced, you were so beautiful that I could hardly look at you.”

There’s a roaring in her ears. _No. Yes._

“We work together,” she says stiffly.

“We work well together,” he says. “But more than that, I… wonder if you could see a future with me.”

She lowers her gaze. Stalling. “You have just come through a difficult season. We do not know what lies ahead…”

She means every word, but she’s very aware that she’s also evading the real issue. She tries again, clumsily. “You cannot intend to – to court me.” Feeling a blush spread across her cheeks.

He looks grave. “If that’s not what you want, I will desist.”

“No,” she says, before she can help it.

_Yes,_ she thinks at the same time. _No, no. I don’t know…_

“I do not mean to vacillate, Cullen,” she stammers. “I… cannot give you a clearer answer than that, so soon.”

“I don’t mean to rush you,” he says softly. “I just wanted you to know that I’m certain of the way I feel about you.”

Before she can stop herself, she blurts out the cruelest thing she could say. “Were you as certain when you were with Meredith?”

He recoils as if slapped. The one thing he never confessed to her, she knows she’s guessed exactly right.

She fits the profile, then: authority figure, older woman, appearing in a time of crisis. Habits are hard to break. He is falling into old patterns, even if he doesn’t know it yet. And she cannot allow him to do that any longer.

When he speaks again, his voice is tight with fury. “I loved her,” he says. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“What I understand is quite enough,” she replies, coolly.

Silence falls. Their blows have struck hard. She knows that if she walks away now, she will regret it.

“Cullen,” she says, hesitantly.

He turns, his eyes unreadable.

“These last two weeks, Cullen. I missed you.” She swallows, mouth dry. “You must have noticed.”

He goes so long without saying anything that part of her fears he’ll never speak to her again. His eyes are full of sadness.

“Yes, I noticed,” he says at last. “Do you wish I hadn’t?”

Why, if she’s the one rejecting him, does it feel like her own heart is breaking? She shakes her head. “Forgive me,” she says, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” he says, with an edge of exasperation.

_Then why do I feel as though I have?_ She looks away. “Let me go. Please.”

He doesn’t react as she walks away.

* * *

 

It’s a long walk back to her quarters, and a long night spent staring sleeplessly up at the ceiling. Conditioned to never show weakness, she doesn’t cry, though tonight, alone, she wishes she could. Anything to channel out this wordless ache inside of her.

What he said hit true. What does she understand about love? Her parents are dead. Anthony is dead. Byron, Galyan, Justinia…

_Justinia, I wish you could help me,_ she prays, wondering if she hears. _Love takes courage of a kind I have practiced little._

It hits her, then, that she really is in love with Cullen Rutherford, and has been for a very long time. Just as it’s become clear that he has feelings for her, too – and just as she’s confirmed that whatever he’s feeling might be nothing more than a reflex to fill a void. It doesn’t make sense to her. She no longer makes sense to herself. If this is love, she hadn’t expected it to cast everything she knew about herself into doubt, to feel so much like disaster.

She’d gotten careless, reckless. She must have believed that no one could really break her after Galyan, the way no one had really affected Leliana after Marjolaine. People who break remake themselves as best they can afterwards, becoming someone different from who they were before.

Once someone shatters you, you should know better than to let it happen again.

* * *

 

There is one consolation. When Cassandra stumbles over to the stables at dawn, she finds her horse perfectly saddled and ready to go.

“Thank you, Cassandra,” the Inquisitor says. It seems that the entire party’s horses were prepared.

“It wasn’t me,” Cassandra says.

Guilt must show on her face. The others have a good laugh. “Chantry types make poor liars,” Dorian says.

“But good grooms, so I hear,” the Inquisitor says slyly. Too pointedly to be a coincidence.

Cassandra waits until the others have mounted their horses before running a hand through her saddlebags. At the bottom, she finds a folded note. It’s unsigned, but she’d recognize Cullen’s tidy script anywhere.

_Let me go,_ she’d said.

His note reads, _Come back safely._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading, and for the encouragement! I’m so happy to be writing to readers!


	6. Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wish you of all people weren’t the one to see me like this,” Cullen says.

**Chapter Six: Sickness**

Over the next few weeks, Cassandra loses track of how many journeys she takes to and from Skyhold. When she’s in the field, she fights as hard as she can by the Inquisitor’s side, grateful to dedicate herself to a cause. When she’s at Skyhold, she tries to look in on Cullen, but it’s clear he doesn’t wish to see her. She feels as though she has to come up with serious reasons to justify burdening him with her presence, and they’re hard to come by. She thanks him for the note he’d slipped into her baggage. She checks up on him on the day that he reaches the critical half year point of reducing his lyrium intake. She wishes, constantly, that she could do more. To ask to be with him simply for his company – that option seems to be lost to them now.

He greets her, talks briefly with her, and turns her away – politely, guardedly. She understands, but she’s disappointed, too.

The Seekers teach that pain has three stages. The first is the perfect anticipation of the blow, the second the reality when it lands, and the third is the memory afterwards. _You can press through pain,_ her mentor Byron had taught her, just as she’d taught her apprentice Daniel after her. _That doesn’t mean you stop feeling it._

* * *

 

She starts spending more time with the Inquisitor, thinking she really ought to get to know their leader a little better. She even agrees to go drinking together at Herald’s Rest one evening, though she regrets it as the Inquisitor starts turning the questions on her instead.

“We’ve never spent much time together at Skyhold,” the other woman says, when they’re halfway through their drinks. “You’re usually with Cullen.”

“I have known him for longer than anyone else here, except Leliana,” Cassandra says as evenly as she can.

“Ask him along next time.”

“He has been busy recently.”

“He can’t be possibly too busy to see _you_.” When Cassandra says nothing, the other woman teases, “Had a lovers’ tiff?”

Cassandra feels her face grow warm. “Absolutely not.”

“He seems a bit downcast. Pining for you then, is he?”

Cassandra forces a laugh. “Do you really find this so fascinating?”

“Touché,” the Inquisitor says with a crooked grin. “But I’m not the only one. Leliana started asking about him first. Says he’s been looking thin.”

There’s a glint in her eye, uncannily like the one in Leliana’s when there’s something she wants to know. Cassandra does her best to affect an insouciant shrug. “So find us better rations.”

The Inquisitor laughs; her party has a running joke about the injustice of having to subsist on hard biscuits and bear jerky when they have the job of saving the world. At the next opening a few minutes later, Cassandra excuses herself for the night.

She can feel the Inquisitor’s eyes on her as she leaves. They’re on the same side, but that doesn’t mean they trust each other completely. Perhaps it’s best not to get too close to the Inquisitor after all.

* * *

 

Cullen has been looking strained, it’s true. Cassandra resolves to ask him about it the following afternoon. But it’s still mid-morning when one of his runners comes to fetch her, saying the Commander wants to ask her about the state of their troops on the Western Approach, where she’d recently traveled.

She dismisses the messenger and climbs up the battlements to Cullen’s tower alone. He doesn’t respond to her knock on the door. She lets herself in, sees no one, senses that something is terribly wrong.

“Commander?” she calls.

His voice drifts down weakly from upstairs. “Lock the door.”

She complies, then hurries up the ladder, a sinking feeling in her chest. It’s even worse than she feared. Cullen is lying on his side in bed, fully dressed, though from the state of his clothes she’d guess that he’s been wearing them since yesterday. With the covers half thrown off, she can see that his skin is ashen. When he sees her, he struggles to sit up, and something twists inside her. She kneels by his bedside so he doesn’t have to strain to look at her.

“The lyrium sickness?” she asks, hearing her worry turn her voice harsh.

“Yes.”

“Maker, Cullen,” she says, forgetting her promise to herself not to call him by his name. “Has long has it been like this?”

“Since yesterday,” he groans, becoming agitated. “One of my men came to deliver a package this morning. I told him I needed to talk to you.”

“You must rest. We can talk later.”

“No.” He raises his gaze. She can see how unwell he is from his eyes alone. “I started seeing things yesterday. Hearing voices. I thought I was back at the Circle in Kinloch. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.”

“With every day you come a little further,” Cassandra says, but he shakes his head.

“I am not fit for duty. I am asking you to remove me from my post.”

It has come to this. She knows he’d thought he’d never have to make this request; she hadn’t thought she’d want so badly to grant it.

But that would be the end of him too.

She makes her decision. Takes a deep breath and fixes him with her sternest look. “I will grant you time to rest, as much as you need. But I am not prepared to relieve you from duty.”

“We had an agreement, Seeker,” he says, with a deep, buried anger.

“You may feel differently once the illness is past.”

“You must not allow the Inquisition to be crippled by my weakness.”

 “Let me tell you something,” she says, steeling herself. This could be her final opportunity to convince him. She cannot allow herself to fail.

* * *

 

“I was against appointing you to your position for a long time.”

His eyes widen. She tells him then about the conversation that changed everything. Justinia had asked her and Leliana to recruit more leaders for the fledgling Inquisition. Cassandra and Leliana had objected, saying that their skills sufficed. “On the contrary,” Justinia said, a note of rebuke in her voice. “Leliana’s reputation limits her diplomatic options. Cassandra has never commanded an army. You will be needing more help, and soon.”

That was when she and Leliana had realized that the Inquisition was going to be a far larger operation than they’d imagined. “Very well, Divine,” Leliana said, a little sorely. “I will reach out to my contacts. Those who are currently active in the courts of Val Royeaux.”

Cassandra felt the same way herself, but she said, “And I can ask the Seekers to suggest candidates.”

“The Templars would be a better choice,” Justinia said firmly. “They are a large military order, used to operating across vast territories at once.”

“The Templars,” Cassandra said, “may not be willing to part with anyone with the capabilities we require.”

“That is where you come in,” Justinia said with a touch of sharpness, and Cassandra bowed her head in submission.

She was surprised to hear Justinia say, in a different voice, “There is a new Knight-Commander in Kirkwall by the name of Cullen Rutherford. Arrange a meeting with him when you go to Kirkwall to look for Hawke. I believe he has potential.”

“Divine,” Cassandra said, though the thought of the Templars at Kirkwall made her cringe. It was not where she would have gone first to look for potential.

“That is all for today,” Justinia said. “Rise. I will deliver the benediction.”

They stood. But instead of reciting one of the usual prayers, Justinia had words of her own to deliver. She said, “What comes into our minds when we think about the Maker is the most important thing about us.” She looked carefully at Cassandra. “One person thinks of duty.” Then at Leliana. “Another thinks of debt.”

She lifted her hands. “I pray you find an ambassador who strives for peace, not personal gain. I pray you find a military leader who does not seek to demolish, but to save. May it be so.”

“His will be done,” Leliana and Cassandra replied.

They turned to go, but Justinia leveled her gaze at Cassandra for a moment longer. “The Knight-Commander at Kirkwall has faced many struggles. All his life, he must have been asking the Maker to give him another chance. I see an opportunity here for us to grant him his request.”

* * *

 

Now, Cassandra turns to Cullen with every ounce of determination she can muster. “When you asked for three days before you would leave Kirkwall, I was very close to deciding against you. Only Justinia’s confidence in you made me reconsider. The word is that Leliana and I did not make it in time to the Conclave because of Varric. Even Varric believes this. I would have dragged him along kicking and screaming along – or better yet, unconscious. The real reason we were late was you.”

He pales, but holds her gaze. She continues, “You were there. Have you ever worked it out? If we had not tarried to recruit you, Leliana and I would have been at the explosion with Justinia. In all likelihood, there would be no Inquisition today.

“I know I made a promise to you. But I am asking you now: do not ask _me_ to remove you when it seems the Maker has a greater purpose is seeing that you remain here. Fight this. Overcome it. I know you can.”

He is quiet for a moment. He looks beaten, frail. Not for the first time, Cassandra thinks of sparing him. His suffering is bad enough, should she add to it torture?

After long deliberation, Cullen sighs. In a small voice, he says, “I will need more aid.”

“You have all of mine,” she says immediately. “We must continue to keep this a secret.” Leliana would be against them taking such a risk, Josephine would take her side, and the Inquisitor would cede to their majority.

He tells her everything she will need to do, from running his regime of medications to answering his mail. She must take charge of the troops directly when he is too ill to be seen. Attacks come suddenly. He will need her to stay close, as much as she is able.

She thinks, nods. “I was supposed to go with the Inquisitor to the Hissing Wastes, but I will speak with Blackwall about taking my place. He and I have comparable fighting styles.” Her pride wants her out in the field, cutting down those who would oppose them herself. But she reminds herself that remaining behind to care for Cullen instead serves the Inquisition as a whole, and that is more important.

She urges him to rest, but he refuses until he’s told her as much as he’s able. At last he lets his head sink onto the pillow. Cassandra dampens a cloth and wipes his brow. His eyes fill with tears. “I never intended to ask so much of you.”

“I did not give you my word without first counting the cost,” she murmurs. “Whatever I am able to give you, I will.”

Even her heart, her begging heart. But what good is that to him now?

* * *

 

Few survive lyrium withdrawal, and those who do leave hazy records. The symptoms come in stages. Some days, Cullen says it’s just like being seasick. On others, he’s in a blind panic, afraid that Cassandra is plotting something against him, talking to people who aren’t there.

For the next few days, Cassandra stays close, doing what she can to help him. She takes over his duties, surprised at how much she’s learned from him over the past few months. She does her best to persuade him to eat and drink. It would be easier if he weren’t so chagrined at her help. He goes back and forth between pitying himself and apologizing for his self-pity. “It is the illness, not you,” she says to soothe him. “I am not deceived.”

“Even so, I wish you of all people weren’t the one to see me like this. I tried not to let you see me.” He lets out a ragged breath. “You must think me so weak.”

“The Maker does not despise weakness, and neither do I. I admire you as much right now as I did when you told me of your decision. More, in fact, because you are seeing it through.” She grasps his wrist lightly, taking his pulse at the same time. It’s about what she expected, and lower than she would have liked. “The Maker promises never to give us more than we can bear. You can get through this, Cullen.”

She helps him lay back down in bed. But he seems determined to talk. She hopes it helps him. “How did Justinia see potential in me?” he asks.

“I would not lie to you about that.” She feels a pang of conscience, thinking about how she’d lied about sending him a letter. Perhaps some lies were justified, but it took greater discernment than hers to know where to draw the line. “Are you questioning her assessment?

He shuts his eyes. “When you first told me, I simply took it on faith. If only because I still clung to a shred of my pride, and because I was desperate to feel useful again.”

“There is nothing wrong about wanting to serve.”

“But there was a great deal wrong with my motives. When I was sent to Kirkwall, I hated mages, and I feared them, even though they were the very ones I had sworn to protect. I felt that I had lost my way as a Templar. Then I was assigned to Meredith, and I was all too happy to accede to her command. She favored me, promoting me much more quickly than I deserved. In return I gave her my unquestioning support. I helped her oppress mages and Templars alike.

“She used me, just as I used her. But I loved her anyway, with a venal love, because she indulged me in my worst, and because I was a fool.”

He looks straight at Cassandra. “I patterned myself after Meredith in every way. In the end, we were the same.”

“No, Cullen,” she says, feeling as though her heart is about to give way in her chest. “She wasn’t hurt, but you were.”

He lets out a sob that wracks his whole body. “Cassandra…”

It’s been so long since he said her name. It shakes her. “Courage, Cullen. You are not that person any longer. That man is gone. You are the Commander of the Inquisition now. And the Inquisition needs you.”

“Cassandra,” he says again, with more desperation than before. But she only gives his hand a quick squeeze and backs off.

She will not say _I need you._

The worst thing she could do now is make him dependent on her instead.

* * *

 

Late one night, she’s leaving Cullen’s room when she sees a blurry figure duck out of Skyhold’s main building. It’s much too late for anyone else to be up, and there’s something suspicious about how inconspicuous that person is determined to be.

The Inquisitor’s quarters are at the very top. Odds are nothing is the matter, but Cassandra climbs the steps to her room anyway.

The door is slightly ajar. A bad sign. Cassandra knocks lightly. “Inquisitor?”

 A sleepy voice calls out, “Blackwall?”

“No, it’s Cassandra,” she says, opening the door without thinking. “Is everything all right?”

That’s when she sees the Inquisitor stretched out on the windowsill, completely naked.

“As you were,” Cassandra says, backing out the door.

“Too late for that,” the Inquisitor says grumpily, waving her in. “Bloody men. Always waking you up as they leave.”

* * *

 

The Inquisitor throws on a robe and uncorks a bottle. “At least I’ll sleep more soundly from now on,” she says. “Now that I know you patrol Skyhold through all the watches of the night.”

Cassandra shrugs, accepting a glass. “I was just passing by.”

“On the way back from checking on someone else?” The Inquisitor grins. “The Commander’s office is in a tower, you know. The better for everyone to see who comes and goes.”

“His stomach has not been well.” It’s the story they’ve been circulating. It’s not completely false.

The Inquisitor bats her eyelashes. “But let me guess. All his troubles go away when you’re lying in his arms?”

Cassandra snorts. “Someone has been putting romantic notions in your head.” She bites down on a smile. “Not to mention, other things in other places besides.”

That makes the other woman hoot with laughter. “Do you know what Blackwall said to me tonight? He said, ‘We’ll regret this, my lady.’ Hmph. Grey Wardens, brooding lot. But very attentive in bed.” She stretches lazily. “How are Templars?”

“Oh, I regret those every time,” Cassandra deadpans, and the other woman laughs again.

“To the good men of Skyhold,” she says, knocking her glass against Cassandra’s. “And the women who can’t get enough of them.”

* * *

 

Cassandra doesn’t say much to Cullen the next day, though she’s relieved to see him looking stronger. He asks for some of his charts, and she goes down to his office and gets them for him, negotiating the ladder with greater care than usual.

“Cassandra?” he asks hesitatingly.

“What?”

“Are you feeling all right yourself?”

She grunts. “I was up late talking to the Inquisitor last night.”

“Your work ethic puts us all to shame.”

“Nonsense. We were not discussing work.”

“Oh. Then… Blackwall?”

Cassandra raises an eyebrow. “You knew about him and the Inquisitor?”

“Women aren’t the only ones who talk. I could tell you quite a lot about the lovely couple.”

“I may have heard too much already.” Cassandra groans. “We drank so much.”

“Wonderful. We can feel wretched together.”

She looks at him incredulously, but starts to laugh when she sees the corners of his eyes crinkling up in amusement.

“Is that what I’ve been caring for this whole time?” she teases. “An extended hangover?”

He chuckles. But they both know his condition could deteriorate at any moment. It already has, many more times than a person should have to bear. “Have some water,” he says. “Or it will be worse for you soon.”

“Either grief will not come: or if it must, do not forecast,” Cassandra quotes.

To her surprise, Cullen picks up the next line of the verse. “And while it cometh, it is almost past.”

Cassandra remembers how the stanza ends: _Away distrust: the Maker hath promis’d; he is just._ The poem is an exhortation to contend with the present, and no more. _Let what will fall: That which is past who can recall?_

Such sound counsel, and still she sighs. She pours them each a glass of water, and as they sit together in Cullen’s room with its broken roof, feeling a little less wretched together, Cassandra wonders how long this reprieve can last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear jerky, because what else do you do with those gazillion bears that take an hour each to kill?
> 
> A.W. Tozer wrote, “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.”
> 
> “Either grief will come…” is from “The Discharge” by George Herbert.
> 
> Thank you, thank you for reading! I’m always happy to hear from you!


	7. Treason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is a fantasy, nothing more,” Cassandra says. “The stories we love have power over us. I should be more discriminating.”

**Chapter Seven: Treason**

As the weeks pass, Cullen’s condition fluctuates, but at least it doesn’t seem to be getting any worse for the time being. He’s able to sit up in bed, reading reports from his officers. But he depends on Cassandra to bring him news, always asks for her judgment, listens as she processes. It reminds her so much of their first, easy days together that she almost forgets how ill he is. They’re talking one day when he reaches over and, without interrupting her, swallows half a packet of powdered elfroot. “My apologies,” she says, embarrassed. “I shouldn’t talk if you have a headache.”

He shakes his head. “It’s good to listen to a voice that I know is real.”

In his sickness, he lacks the energy to do anything but speak the truth, simply and plainly. It makes him give good counsel. He is the one she tells first about the missing Seekers, and how worried she is about her old order.

“There is so much secrecy within the Seekers that most of us have no choice but to follow blindly,” she says. “It should not be that way. There has also been an odd change in Lord Seeker Lucius. He is not the man I knew before.” She sighs. “Not everyone can or should lead. Unfortunately, the Seekers are full of people who desire to be leaders.”

He regards her thoughtfully. “Are any of us merely followers?”

“Josephine.”

“Ah.” He thinks for a moment. “How about Leliana?”

She smiles. “A leader who thinks she makes a good follower.” That makes him laugh. “Justinia was born to be a leader. She was a terrible rebel in her younger days. The Inquisitor is the same way. She’s told me about the fights she used to start with everyone in her Circle. Do you know that she wasn’t picked for the Conclave? She was a last minute substitute for a colleague who’d taken ill.”

“The Maker’s will be done,” Cullen says, shaking his head.

“Even in what Leliana tells me was a case of food poisoning under unusual circumstances,” Cassandra says, with a straight face.

She can see Cullen filing that away for future reference: as far as possible, do not accept food from the Inquisitor. “What about me?” he asks.

She chooses her words carefully. “A good follower and a good leader,” she says. “A rare disposition. But perhaps your true gift resides in strengthening those you follow, empowering them to become better leaders themselves.”

“I’ll remember that,” he says softly.

“What would you say about me?”

He opens his mouth, hesitates. “You are relying on someone else to tell you, when you need to realize it for yourself.”

She’s speechless for a moment. Shocked at how he has it exactly right.

“Very well,” she says finally. “I will give it some more thought.”

* * *

Cullen is strong enough to return to the field the next time he’s called. But there’s little cause for celebration. He has been summoned to Val Royeaux to investigate what is to be done about Blackwall. No one at Skyhold was pleased to hear of his disappearance, and or him resurfacing as Thom Rainier, traitor and murderer.

Cassandra accompanies the Inquisitor to the prison, but waits with Cullen while the other woman goes to Blackwall’s cell. “Do you know what she’s decided?” Cullen asks, in a low voice.

“No,” Cassandra says. “But she’s very angry that all of us were deceived.” She frowns. “Have you spoken to Blackwall?”

“I interrogated him as soon as I got here. It turns out that he was once a respected captain in the Imperial Orlesian army. Before the civil war he was turned, persuaded to assassinate one of Celene’s biggest supporters. He led a group of fiercely loyal men on this mission, and told them nothing of it. His men took the fall for him.” Cullen pauses. “What would you do?”

Cassandra considers his words. “What he did to the men under his command was unacceptable. He betrayed their trust, betrayed ours. I despise him for it. Yet he fought as a Warden, joined the Inquisition, gave his blood for our cause. I believe he truly wished to become a different man.” Her frown deepens. “But restitution is impossible, and atonement difficult to judge. The Inquisition must not be seen to flout justice, much less the Inquisitor herself.

“Justinia always used to say, ‘It is never too late to do better, and become more than what you are.’” She hesitates, before continuing in a lower voice. “I sometimes thought, given that she elected so often to preside over the last rites of the condemned, that she…”

Cassandra leaves her sentence unfinished when they hear the Inquisitor coming back up the stairs. She approaches Cullen. “Your view, Commander?”

“We have resources,” he says. “If he’s released to us, you may pass judgment on him yourself.”

The Inquisitor doesn’t shown the slightest change of emotion. She speaks decisively. “If we do that, everyone will know the Inquisition is corrupt. It would mean sacrificing everything we’ve worked for. His punishment is just, and he has accepted it. I will not intercede on his behalf.”

“I will inform the captain of the guard of your decision.” Cullen sighs. “I am sorry. I know what he meant to you. We may remember him as one who felt it was never too late to set something right.”

The Inquisitor nods, and Cassandra follows her out. If the other woman is torn up, she doesn’t show it. “By the blue balls of the Maker, maybe this time I’ll learn my lesson,” the Inquisitor says, as they climb the steps. “Or maybe not. I never have any luck with men.”

* * *

 

The Inquisitor’s party travels back to Skyhold, and Cullen catches up to them after a day, having stayed back briefly in Val Royeaux to sort out some other affairs. Whenever they make camp, Cassandra stays up, writing by the fire. “Writing in your diary?” Cullen says on the third night, as he settles down beside her.

She resists the urge to cover the pages with her hand. “It is a tribute for Regalyan. What you said about Blackwall made me realize it is time that I tried to give him and the other mages proper credit for their part in saving Divine Beatrix. It is far too late for him, but it may yet help in changing public opinion of mages.”

“A worthy undertaking,” Cullen says. “I look forward to reading it.”

She hesitates. “It will be public, won’t it?” he asks gently.

“Yes.” She sighs. “It was my fault. All those years ago.”

“What?”

When she finally gives the account how she was the one who’d suppressed news of Regalyan’s contributions, it feels like a weight is being lifted off her chest. It is relief to tell someone the whole truth. She sets down her quill. “Here. It will be good to have another reader. Tell me if it is clear that I want to take responsibility for that lapse.”

As she passes the pages over, she’s nervous. “I leave out the part about being his jilted, vindictive lover,” she tries to say lightly.

“That’s just as well,” he says. “It would reflect poorly on him.”

“And worse on me,” Cassandra says, with a wry smile, but Cullen appears not hear as he inclines his head to the page, frowning in concentration, and begins to read.

She isn’t entirely sure if she’s just imagining it, but his attitude seems to have cooled towards her lately.

He’s still reading when she gets up and goes into her tent for the night.

* * *

 

Back at Skyhold, Cullen is well enough to resume work at his desk. He doesn’t need her to fill in for him as much these days. She should be glad he’s getting better, she knows. But the stronger he becomes, the more distant he seems.

He must be embarrassed to have revealed so much to her in his delirium. As he said, he never intended to ask so much of her.

Still, it hurts to feel as though he’s pushing her away.

When he even tries to give her books back to her one evening, she objects. “They’re yours,” he says, perplexed.

“But you have a shelf for them,” she says, pathetically. She loaned all of her to him when he was sick. He housed them in a handsome wooden bookcase in his office, within easy reach of his desk.

“You can have the shelf.”

“Your forces are on the way to Adamant,” she snaps. “This is hardly the time to think about moving furniture.”

He rubs his brow. “Fine. I won’t argue with you, Cassandra.”

It was a worthless argument, anyway.

They’re both silent for a moment. Then Cullen says, “I’ve noticed something about your books. They are all romances. Love stories.”

She searches his face. But there’s not a trace left of the way he used to look at her. There’s no spark in his eyes, no teasing smile on his lips, just cool, neutral regard.

So she has her wish. They are back to being friends, if that.

It’s one last blow to her sense of self – that he should get over her so easily.

With a heavy heart, she says, “I suppose they are.”

“I didn’t mean to sound negative about your books,” he says. “I’ve been greatly looking forward to rereading them, actually. Except maybe Varric’s.”

She blanches, and he says quickly, “Oh. I’m sorry. Did you like that one too?”

But she notices that he can’t keep an expression of incredulity from his face.

“Against my better judgment,” she admits. Her face grows warm when she thinks about a scene she’s reread so often she knows the book falls open to that well-worn page: the hero laying out candles and rose petals in a grove by night, reading his lady poetry, and – Maker preserve her – consummating their love on a blanket out under the open sky.

“It is a fantasy, nothing more,” she says. The man woos, the woman succumbs, and they live happily ever after. “The stories we love have power over us. I should be more discriminating.”

“There are worse ones than that.”

“But there are better ones, too.” She takes down the first volume of an epic poem about the Maker and Andraste. “Andraste lived out the very ideal of love. She served the Maker in all things, even in her suffering. For that we celebrate her as His true bride. I admire her story more than any other.”

He studies her closely. “It’s the only book you own that doesn’t have a happy ending.”

She hadn’t realized that before. “All the more reason why I should be more discriminating.”

She glances out at the darkness. “You seem tired. You should rest,” she says, putting as much detachment into her voice as she can.

He sighs. “As should you. You have a long journey tomorrow.”

Hesitantly, she asks, “Will you be all right?”

“Of course,” he says brusquely.

Then he looks her squarely in the eye. He’s heard enough from her about Caer Oswin to know how much she dreads what she’ll find there. “Will you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” she says, in a hard voice.

As she leaves, she thinks, _Don’t worry. He won’t._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst to go, but less lyrium withdrawal after this, I promise! 
> 
> Thanks ever so much for reading and reviewing, I’m so glad you’re here!


	8. Disillusionment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cullen. You’re still here,” Cassandra says, wishing it hadn’t come out so much like an accusation.

**Chapter Eight: Disillusionment**

No one ventures to ask Cassandra what’s in the tome Lord Seeker Lucius gave her at Caer Oswin, minutes before they slaughtered him. The Inquisitor says, “Speak to me when you’re ready,” and Cassandra nods, but that’s all.

She’s grateful they don’t push her. She’s aggravated that they don’t seem to want to know what’s in it. Indifferent.

But look how prideful her Order had become – thinking they were so different, so intent on seeking out the truth.

On their next night at camp, she resolves not to sleep until she’s finished reading the Seekers’ book. After she’s done, she can’t sleep at all. Her exhaustion the next day does nothing to dull her sense of horror. It feels as though she’s carrying a bomb with her – one that she must detonate, however unwillingly.

Morale is low throughout their return journey. No one talks. They are all so determined to put Caer Oswin behind them that they travel at almost twice their usual speed. It’s dark when they ride into Skyhold, long before they were expected back. No one is there to meet them.

Weary from traveling late into the night, the others head straight to their quarters. Only Cassandra hesitates. She wonders if she should check on Cullen, but in the end she concludes that she’s in no shape to face anyone tonight.

Her own quarters feel too exposed. Right now she can’t even stand the thought of anyone knowing where she is.

She finds herself climbing the steps to the Chantry. Hardly less predictable, but that’s the best she can do. As she enters the hall, she notices the confessional tucked in one corner, both its doors tightly shut. She’s never gone in much for confessionals herself – the practice varies by region – but tonight she’s in a strangely experimental mood. To see if the sense of loss spiraling inside her can be contained as easily as her body within the box.

She seats herself in one side and closes the door. A screen lets in just enough candlelight to keep her from being in complete darkness. Here without the possibility of anyone seeing her, she is able to pray.

_Maker, have mercy on me, a sinner._

Minutes pass.

In time, what she’s feeling doesn’t ebb. But she’s in control of it now, instead of letting it control her.

She still hasn’t gone back to her room, because she doesn’t have to go anywhere right this moment and it’s a welcome change. In fact, she’s almost forgotten where she is when she hears the Chantry’s main door creak open. Footsteps echoing on the tiles.

Strange that someone should be coming in here so late. It must be Mother Giselle, or one of the other clerics. Perhaps even Leliana.

It can’t be who she thinks it is.

The footsteps stop, very close. She sits very still, hardly daring to breathe. The person opens the door to the other side of the confessional and climbs in. She can feel the movement through the wooden floor.

She hears nothing else for such a long time that she begins to wonder if she imagined the whole thing.

Then a voice she knows well begins to recite the Chant of Light, so beautifully that it sounds like a song.

It’s his own words he stumbles over. “Maker, I plead with you. Watch over Cassandra. Bring her safely back. Maker, I ask that you… how do I – show me how I might – ”

It would be wrong of her to eavesdrop any further. “Cullen?” she says.

There’s a loud gasp, and the curtain swishes open. Cullen stares back at her, looking as startled as she feels.

* * *

 

He tries to mask his shock with indignation. “Do you often sit in the clergy’s side of confessionals?”

“Never,” Cassandra replies. “Until tonight, I hadn’t even known this was here.”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, but his sarcasm deserts him when he adds, “I thought you were at Caer Oswin.”

She shakes her head. “We returned a few hours ago. I – I felt like coming into the Chantry, and then I noticed this.” She tries to match his assertiveness. “Are you here often?”

This time he misses her sarcasm. “Yes. This is where I come to pray. What about you? What were you doing in here?” He sees the book, and says incredulously, “Reading? Reading what?”

She looks down at the book’s scratched cover, embellished with the Maker’s all-seeing eye. The age and weight of secrets in her hands.

“Something that not be whispered about behind closed doors,” she says. “This needs to come out into the light.”

* * *

 

They step out of the confessional and sit together in the main chapel, face to face. Cassandra takes a moment to collect herself, then speaks.

“This tome has passed from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker since the time of the old Inquisition. It concerns the Rite of Tranquility. I always thought it a necessary evil. What finally began the mage rebellion was a discovery that the Rite of Tranquility could be reversed. The Lord Seeker at the time covered it up – harshly. There were deaths. It was dangerous knowledge. The shock of its discovery in addition to what happened in Kirkwall… But it appears we’ve always known how to reverse the Rite. From the beginning.”

He inhales sharply. She goes on, “We created the Rite of Tranquility. During my vigil, when I spent months emptying myself of all emotion, I was made tranquil, and did not even know. Then the vigil summoned a spirit of faith to touch my mind. That broke Tranquility – and gave me my abilities. The Seekers did not share that secret. Not with me, not with the Chantry.”

“No.” He bows his head.

“There’s more. Lucius was not wrong about the Order. At some point, power becomes its own master. We cast aside ideals in favor of expedience and tell ourselves it was all necessary. For the people. Should I allow that to happen again?”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he says in a quiet voice. “You restarted the Inquisition, and it strives to uphold its ideas. To do the Maker’s work.”

Her brow furrows. “I do not think the Seekers have been doing the Maker’s work. Not truly. Perhaps we did, once. The original Inquisition came to be during a terrible time. But now? We harbored secrets and let them fester. We acted to survive, but not to serve.”

She clenches her fists. “We are responsible for the atrocities committed against the mages. We are responsible for the war between the Templars and the mages. We call ourselves Seekers of Truth, and we deceived everyone. Perhaps we have done enough.”

“Then you would let its sins stand uncorrected?”

“No,” she says, with unexpected determination in her voice. “Whether or not the Seekers should go on… I can’t be the only one remaining. We were always spread to the winds, and some may still be out there. I would strive to find them, one by one. We would all read this book – no more secrets.”

He nods. “I think that is a good place to start.”

She hesitates for a long moment. “Cullen, can I ask something of you?”

“Anything.”

“I would…” Try as she might, she can’t form what she’s thinking into a request. “I would be grateful if you would read it first. It may take me some time to locate the other Seekers, and of course my priority now is to help the Inquisition. I know you are not a Seeker yourself, but…”

He interrupts her. Charitably. “I’ll start it right away.”

She hands the book to him. When he takes hold of it, she doesn’t let go right away. He has to gently wrest it out of her grasp. “There,” he says. “You won’t bear this alone, Cassandra.”

It’s the kindness behind his words that passes straight through her defenses. She starts to cry, covering her face with her hands. He rests one hand lightly on her shoulder. The most platonic of touches, even if can even be called a touch, this gentle pressure against her armor. It only makes her cry harder. At once he withdraws his hand, only to let out a small, surprised sound as Cassandra turns to him, burying her face against his shoulder. His arms tighten around her then, holding her close.

She tells him then, between sobs, about what happened at Caer Oswin. She tells him the names of everyone she had to kill, from the Lord Seeker Lucius to her old apprentice Daniel. Through it all, Cullen listens without speaking, except to sooth her. Suddenly the parallels between him and her are all too clear. They have had their minds wrested away from them, watched as members of their order were slain, discovered that everything they thought they stood for rested on corruption and falsehood. He must suffer through his own pain again to be with her in hers. It is far more than what she has the right to demand from anyone, least of all him.

Eventually her tears subside. She catches her breath. When she begins to pull back, he lets her go quickly. She wipes her face with her hands, avoiding looking at him as much as possible. “Thank you, Cullen. I didn’t know if anyone else would understand.”

“Thank you for your trust in me.” He stands. “It’s late, and you’re exhausted. Let me see you back to your room.”

“It’s out of your way,” she protests, getting to her feet as well.

“Only a little. A small price for my peace of mind.”

He walks beside her to the smithy, keeping a careful distance between them. Upstairs, he turns his back – stands in a corner, even – when she changes her clothes and splashes her face with water from a basin, too tired to do more. When she collapses into bed, numb, he draws the covers higher and smooths them over her.

“Close your eyes, Cassandra,” he says. “Go to sleep.”

That night, she has nightmares of black smoke, explosions, screams. The scene changes from the Conclave at Temple of Sacred Ashes to Caer Oswin to the Grand Cathedral at Val Royeaux. Through it all, she has the feeling that she must find Justinia, and that she never will again.

That she will always, ultimately, be able to look to someone else – that is the last of her illusions to die. No one can guide her now beyond her own conscience.

But how cruel that she never even got to say goodbye.

* * *

 

Her dreams feel like an eternity. When she awakens, she’s frightened at first that years might have elapsed. At the least, her room is much brighter than it is at the time she usually wakes up. She hears fabric swishing and sits up. Cullen is on his knees at the foot of her bed, folding up her spare bedroll.

“Cullen. You’re still here,” she says, wishing it hadn’t come out so much like an accusation.

The shadows under his eyes have grown more pronounced. She wonders if he slept at all. “I couldn’t leave you,” he says, as he puts the bedroll away. He looks exhausted.

“You went to too much trouble.”

She’s still in bed, feeling painfully self-conscious. Cullen turns around, folds his arms.

He says, “There’s water for you to wash up. You’ll be in time to catch the end of breakfast.” He clears his throat. “I will wait until you’ve gone.”

When she hesitates, he adds pointedly, “So we are not seen to be leaving your quarters together.”

“I’m not ashamed to be seen with you.” It could have been a reconciliatory gesture, but again it comes out like an accusation.

Well, what’s one more. She’s done damage already, and anger gives her strength.

When she’s finished dressing, she walks right past Cullen to the stairs. He follows her without a word, carrying – she’d almost forgotten – the Seekers’ book. The blacksmiths are already at work, though they all seem to be quietly occupied with cleaning or polishing, nothing that would make a lot of noise. She wonders if Cullen had anything to do with that, as they exit the smithy and make their way to the main hall.

They are not as late as Cullen imagined. Most people are still eating, and others come in after them. Cassandra sees the party that returned from Caer Oswin, and while she still doesn’t want to talk to them about what happened just yet, it no longer pains her just to be around them.

A few hours ago, she felt as if she could never show her face outside again. Now, the morning is unfolding strangely like so many other mornings, with Cullen and her sitting across from each other, just as they used to do. He doesn’t wait until he’s finished eating before he opens the book and starts reading. She studies the familiar look he gets when he’s reading intently, frowning ever so slightly, blocking out everything else. He looks troubled, but not disheartened.

Nothing is really better. Not yet. Yet somehow even the worst things look less bad by the light of day.

She’s just made her peace with that when the Inquisitor rushes into the hall, with Josephine half-jogging behind her to keep up. “We have Corypheus’ location!” the Inquisitor shouts, triumphantly. “We march on him in two days!”

Two days. Cassandra hadn’t realized how close they’d all come. But she and Cullen have both made it. She began the Inquisition, he has led their troops up to their final battle. She will ride out with the Inquisitor one last time, while he will remain with the other advisers to oversee their forces from Skyhold. What happens now is in the Maker’s hands.

She looks over at Cullen, wondering if she should say something, to tell him how proud she is to have come this far by his side. But he doesn’t look back at her.

A chill passes through her heart, and in its wake, Cullen seems further from her than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I rewatched the scene of Cassandra talking about the tome of the Seekers and guys there are two bottles and three glasses on the table. No, Cassandra, no! You need talk to somebody about your problems!
> 
> Cassandra prays from Luke 18. I had to edit Cullen’s lines so as not to give away the game too soon, but I still prefer the original, and maybe someone else can find a place for them: “Maker, I plead with you. Watch over Cassandra. Show me how to love her as I should – not for myself, but for all You would have her be. Maker – please – bring her safely back.”
> 
> Thank you, thank you for reading! Always happy to hear what you think!


	9. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen says, “Are you asking me if I still feel the same way now?”

**Chapter Nine: Loss**

The morning of their scheduled departure, Cassandra startles awake far too early. Judging by the deep purple of the sky, there are still hours to go before she has to leave.

_This could be the last time._

For the past few months, Skyhold has been if not a home, then at least something familiar. If they succeed in defeating Corypheus, however – and she lives through it – she will have to come to terms with the fact that there simply may not be a place for her here anymore.

She washes up, says her morning prayers, puts on her armor, and – trying to counterfeit the same unthinking ease with which she performs those other well-practiced actions – knocks three times on Cullen’s door.

No response. Of course not. There’s no reason why he should be up at this hour.

She lets out a long sigh of disappointment, an instant before the door flies open and she finds herself her face to face with Cullen. His hair is a mess, and he’s clad only in loose trousers that sit low on his hips. He’s still thinner than he was when they first met, but today that only lends further definition to the strong lines of his torso that rise and fall as he breathes.

Maker help her, she will pay in sorrow later for this last look at what she’s leaving behind.

“Cassandra?” he says, sounding confused.

“Cullen,” she says, stupidly.

His look turns to worry. “Has something happened?”

She can see his papers splayed out all over his desk, accumulating on the floor. He must have been up working already. If matters keep progressing, this will be indistinguishable from his old office in Kirkwall. She almost smiles at the bittersweet memory of when everything was still new, still untouched.

“Nothing has happened,” she assures him. “I woke up earlier than I should have, that’s all. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

“No, you haven’t,” he says.

He rests one hand on the doorframe, still regarding her with puzzlement. He must be waiting for her to ask something of him, when the fact is her mind never got that far. All she could think about was going to see him once more before what will surely be the most dangerous battle of her life, the one they all have to win no matter what it costs…

Cullen finally speaks, when it’s clear that she can’t. “If you’re out on a walk…” He hesitates. “I mean, not to make any presumptions on my part. But if you are out on a walk, might I join you?”

“If you’re feeling up to it,” she says, cursing herself for sounding so reluctant.

“The symptoms haven’t troubled me for over a week now. I think I could manage a walk,” he says, trying to make a joke of it, but neither of them can quite find it funny. “Just give me a moment to dress.”

* * *

 

It must be the slowest walk either of them has ever taken. They are two of the Inquisition’s best warriors, and they can’t seem to set one foot down in front of the other. Minutes later, they’re still on the battlements, a stone’s throw away from Cullen’s front door. The tension is almost unbearable, and Cassandra hardly knows which is worse – enduring it in silence, or saying something she’ll regret. “Are you sure you’re well?” she says finally.

“Entirely,” Cullen says firmly. “If you weren’t leaving to confront Corypheus, I would ask you to spar with me.”

She smiles, though her heart is full of sadness. “I would have liked that.”

“I would have liked it too.” He sighs, a sound that tears through her. “We had months here. In all this time, I don’t know why I never asked you again. Maker, Cassandra, if you weren’t leaving today…”

The sun rising behind him makes it difficult to discern his expression. He turns away from her suddenly, and she blinks as light shines into her eyes.

Then he’s heading towards the stairs, the moment all but past.

“Cullen, wait,” she says, only realizing she’s spoken the words out loud when he turns.

Words desert her again. All she manages to say is the one thought that’s been on her mind. “When we were here the last time, months ago, you said you had feelings for me.”

He regards her steadily. “Are you asking me if I still feel the same way now?”

She has to know. “Yes.”

He looks down at the ground, shoulders slumped. He doesn’t speak for a long time. When he does, his voice is flat, almost affectless. “You’re the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met, Cassandra. Even when I’ve been nothing but a thorn in your side.”

Her heart plummets. He’s trying to let her down gently. “Cullen,” she says admonishingly, intending to cut him off. Anything to keep from hearing him try to soften the blow. That is more than he owes her, and more than she can bear.

“You asked how I feel about you,” he says stubbornly. “I may never get another chance to tell you. I love you, Cassandra. I don’t even care anymore if you don’t feel the same way about me. You have made me so much better than I was, and better than I thought I could be. You hold fast to your convictions though others oppose you. You strive ceaselessly to do what is good and right. Time has only shown me more of how extraordinary you are. How beautiful. I fall more in love with you every day. That hasn’t changed. I don’t think it ever will.”

Then he groans, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

“That came out wrong,” he says, remorsefully. “I do wish you did feel the same way about me. I always have. I just meant that even if you don’t…”

Composing himself, he straightens. “We should keep walking.”

He looks at her anxiously. “Unless…”

More attuned to his reaction than she is her own, she watches the look in his eyes soften, the corners of his lips curve up. The emotion on his face takes her longer to identify. Hope.

He doesn’t demand, doesn’t push her. All he’s done is laid his whole heart bare and open at her feet again.

“Go on,” she whispers, taking a step forward, rising up on her toes.

A whimper of longing escapes her as he kisses her, as softly as a snowflake falling on her lips. One light touch and he pulls back, watching her reaction. “Was that all right?”

“Too early to tell,” she says, even as her heart soars and she feels as though she might actually swoon with happiness. “We may need to keep going for a little longer.”

The smile that breaks across his face is so delighted, and most of all, so amazed, that she starts to laugh. “I agree,” he murmurs, just before she feels his lips on hers again, warm and soft and brimming with desire.

She puts her arms around his neck, and his hands encircle her waist protectively. He caresses the small of her back, and she knows they’re both remembering the night they danced together at the Winter Palace. “Oh, Cassandra. I’ve dreamed of this for so long.”

“So have I,” she says, pulling back just a moment so she can take in the sight of him fully. “I didn’t think it would ever be real. After everything…”

“All that has only taught me to cherish you more,” he says, and she smiles back at him, anticipating another gentle kiss.

Instead, he turns her so that her back is against the stone wall, and braces her up against it as he captures her mouth hard. This time he doesn’t hold back any of the intensity she so admires in him, and she’s eager to reciprocate.

* * *

 

She has no sense of how much time has passed when she hears a shrill whistle. She and Cullen break apart, looking below for the source. The Inquisitor waves up at them, grinning. Quite a few people are standing there with her. “Time!” she yells.

“You have to go,” Cullen murmurs to Cassandra, though he doesn’t let go of her yet.

She touches his face, willing herself to always remember the way he looks now – gently illuminated by the early morning sun, his lips a little swollen from kissing her so much, his eyes full of love.

“I love you too, Cullen,” she tells him. “I promise I’ll come back.”

* * *

 

She falls in battle.

Each time, the thought of Cullen waiting for her gets her back on her feet.

She raises her sword, grateful for all the training they did together. Keeps fighting back.

Before, she wanted only victory for the Inquisition. Now, she wants her life as well.

* * *

 

They face down Corypheus together, but it is the Inquisitor who takes him down, with fire and lightning and surpassing strength of will. As he falls, Cassandra kneels and gives thanks for the woman who led them, the unity she inspires, and the sacrifices she must make when no one sees.

Whatever the Maker wills next for the Inquisition, she prays that it will always be led so well.

* * *

 

Upon her return to the camp, Cassandra barely has time to dismount her horse before she hears a woman exclaim, “Cassandra!”

To her surprise, it’s Leliana, hurrying over to meet her. “Thank the Maker you survived.”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Cassandra says, rather crossly, but when Leliana throws her arms around her, heedless of the sweat and blood coating her armor, she knows something must have happened. “What are you doing here? I thought you were coordinating our spies from Skyhold.”

“I was. But Josephine is still there, and she knows how to reach me if she needs to. I had to come find you. I have a letter from Justinia.”

Cassandra’s heart stops. But Leliana says quickly, “She wrote it to us before she died. I’m sorry, Cassandra. Not a day goes by when I don’t wish she were still with us.”

Twin tears roll suddenly down Leliana’s cheeks. She brushes them away quickly, composes herself.

“Right after the Conclave,” she says presently, “when we were reviewing her papers on the Inquisition, I came across a coded message for us.” She eyes Cassandra, her competitive spirit renewed. “You missed it, didn’t you?”

“Just tell me what it said,” Cassandra says irritably. Justinia had to have known that looking for hidden messages was the last thing Cassandra would have been doing. It was such a Leliana thing… Cassandra was glad, then, that Justinia had had one last opportunity to take Leliana into her confidence. Never mind if it came at her expense.

“She wrote that she had left something for us in the Chantry at Valence. I sent agents to look, but Sister Natalie made things difficult for them. You remember Natalie, that little snake. I always said that one day she would…” She trails off, aware that she’s babbling. “Anyway. Right after all of you left Skyhold, I – had a momentary crisis of faith. I set off for Valence myself and found this. I brought this to you as soon as I could.”

She carefully slips a sheet of paper out of a nugskin envelope. Cassandra pulls off her gauntlets, takes it in shaking hands.

_Dear Leliana and Cassandra,_

If you are reading this letter, then I failed you both, and the Inquisition as well. I suppose I have been killed, or otherwise incapacitated, at an inconvenient time. How very careless of me.

When I took up service as the Divine, I knew that one of my greatest privileges would be to care for the two of you. That included releasing you from my service when the time was right. This letter will have to give you proper closure where I could not. You have served me diligently and excellently in all things. Now, at the end of the Divine’s term, the Left and Right Hands should lay down their burden.

From now on, you must make your own way in the world. I had been so looking forward to watching you bloom in the next chapters of your lives. But the Maker knows the plans He has for you, plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. I am consoled when I remember that we are always in His good hands.

As I write, the Inquisition is taking form. Josephine is arriving tomorrow, and whoever Cassandra chooses as our military adviser will be here soon as well. I anticipate there will be plenty to do after the Conclave, and I hope to be there to guide you for as long as the Maker permits. I apologize if this letter is out of date. It brings me pain to write to you like this…

In any case, I am not writing to give you orders. If I am gone, then my time to issue them is past. I wish only to leave you a few words of final counsel:

There is always work to do. There always will be. But it should never be the focus of your life. Nothing matters more than your relationship with the Maker, and with those around you. Nothing is more practical than finding the Maker, than falling in Love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything. It will decide what gets you out of bed in the morning, what you do with your evenings, what you read, whom you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.

Fare well, my dearest ones. Do not be overly sorrowful, and continue to look out for each other. I loved you both with all my heart. I hope I did everything I could to make the world a better place for you.

_Signed, Justinia, Dorothea, your sister and your friend_

* * *

 

Cassandra folds the letter carefully and hands it back to Leliana. Leliana still looks sad, but her eyes are bright. “There are more,” she says. “She wrote to us through all the years we were together. But this is the only one I’ve read so far. I wanted to wait for you.”

“Thank you, Leliana,” Cassandra says, blinking back tears. She knows that grief will pay her another visit, but she pushes it aside for now. She will not feel it today.

Leliana understands. She helps Cassandra sit down, holds her armor for her as she sheds it piece by piece. “What happens now?” Cassandra asks.

“We should return to Skyhold. Josephine will be throwing a party. And I believe Cullen will be very glad to see you.” She puts on a frown. “You hopeless romantics.”

Even with Leliana’s teasing, Cassandra feels a smile tug at her lips. Suddenly, Leliana brightens.

“I have an idea,” she says. “Shall I send a raven, telling him you’ve been mortally wounded in battle? That would bring him here quicker, I think.”

Cassandra almost falls off her chair. “Don’t you dare!”

A raven flutters over and lands on Leliana’s shoulder. “Dear Cullen,” Leliana muses, “such sad, sad news…”

She produces a quill from somewhere, and Cassandra makes a grab for it. The raven swoops down into the fray, soon all three of them are roughhousing.

But it’s a friendly fight. In their hearts, they are both relieved to let their old ways go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of Justinia’s words (“Nothing is more practical… Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything” are by Fr. Pedro Arrupe, slightly adapted. She also references Jeremiah 29:11.
> 
> I didn’t initially think to put Justinia in this chapter until several readers mentioned that they liked her interactions with Leliana and Cassandra. I’m so grateful they did!
> 
> I have this idea now that Justinia wrote them tons of letters and hid them in Chantries all over Thedas, and next Leliana and Cassandra will have to go track them down one by one, picking up on all the adventures they had together over the years…
> 
> Also, sorry for the goofy ending with the raven swooping and all – after nine chapters of mostly misery, I had to do something! I was wishing I could have put a nug somewhere in this super serious story and then the nugskin envelope showed up… Is it Schmooples?! _Leliana will never tell._
> 
> Thanks as always for reading, and reviewing! One more short chapter to go!


	10. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is it atonement if you received help from so many to do what you couldn’t have done alone?” Cullen asks.

**Chapter Ten: Love**

In the end, Cassandra does borrow one of Leliana’s ravens to deliver a message she attaches to its leg herself. Leliana sends it up high into the air, and they watch as it disappears into the distance.

“How will it know to find Cullen?” Cassandra asks, when it’s gone.

Leliana stares at her for a full minute in disbelief. “It won’t,” she says at last. “It’s a bird, Cassandra. It flies back to the rookery, and whoever is there will receive it. Josephine, I should think.”

“Oh, Maker,” Cassandra says faintly.

Leliana turns gleeful. “You’re blushing, Cassandra! What did the message say?”

Cassandra shuts her eyes. “Alive and well. Returning soon. Thinking only of you, Cassandra.”

Leliana snorts. She sounds disappointed. “That much is obvious.”

* * *

 

Everyone from Skyhold comes out to welcome the Inquisitor’s party back. Even so, Cassandra has no trouble picking Cullen out in the crowd, and Maker help anyone standing in her way. He hugs her so hard that for a second she can’t breathe. Neither of them says a word; neither of them has to. Being together again is enough.

She wishes they could slip away, but the crowd carries them forward up the steps to the main hall. A feast has been prepared, musicians are playing, and Cassandra knows they owe it to the others to join in. But she can’t resist pulling Cullen into an alcove along the passageway leading to the War Room, just for a few minutes. Even here there are other people about, but Cassandra doesn’t mind in the slightest when Cullen seizes her and kisses her fiercely anyway.

They should know that she’s entirely his.

* * *

 

They have to pause to catch their breath, and to keep from forgetting themselves completely. Somehow, Cassandra remembers that there was something she still needed to ask. As Cullen runs a hand through his hair, managing only to look a little more delightfully disheveled, Cassandra suppresses a sigh of frustration. This is a difficult enough conversation to have without him being so perfectly distracting.

Gathering herself, she says, “You’ve seen the Inquisition through. Has it been your atonement?”

To his credit, he manages to be reflective. “Is it atonement if you received help from so many to do what you couldn’t have done alone? Is a debt repaid if you had to borrow so much from others?”

“Yes. Do not look down upon your victories, or yourself. I see a great deal to be proud of.”

She kisses him tenderly, and he rewards her the smile she’s adored from the first time they met. “The same goes for you, Cassandra. Be proud of the Inquisition and all it’s accomplished.”

“The Inquisition… I have focused so long on the Inquisition. Now I have to think about the future.”

He holds her gaze. “I know yours. You’ll lay a clean foundation, establish a new charter. The Maker’s work, in truth. Where there is doubt, you will bring faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light.”

He takes her hands in his, before speaking the last line of the prayer. “And where there is sadness, joy.”

She entwines her fingers with his. “We are talking about rebuilding the Seekers, aren’t we?”

“Of course.” A twinkle in his eye.

“You sound so certain.”

“I have no doubt of it.” His eyes twinkle. “So what about me? What will I do?”

There’s a teasing note in his voice, but she knows he’s serious. She murmurs, “Continue to lend your strength to a worthy cause.”

“All my life I’ve been searching for one,” he says. “Now I believe I’ve found it.”

Having completed themselves, they complement each other at long last. “I was a follower for many years. I will need your strength and your support if I am to lead now as well.”

“You have all of me, Cassandra.”

Her heartbeat quickens. “What are you proposing?”

He smiles. Nothing tentative about him this time. “A future with you, if you’ll have me. Could you see us having a life together?”

She’s worked for him, wept for him, suffered for him. He is the one she loves. “I already have,” she says. “But I still want you to ask me properly.”

He says, “Cassandra Pentaghast, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she says, without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, Cullen Rutherford, I will marry you.”

* * *

 

They try to stay for the banquet, for the Inquisition’s sake. Cassandra is glad afterwards that she went. Or she wouldn’t have seen the group of strange, masked Orlesians watching the Inquisitor from the back of the room – one of them in particular. Cassandra didn’t recognize his ornate clothes or his close-cropped dark hair, but something about his low, stout build seemed familiar.

With a jolt, she remembers that after she and the Inquisitor left Blackwall in the Val Royeaux prison, Cullen stayed on, saying he had unfinished business left to take care of…

“Cullen,” she says in an undertone, “is that…?”

“Hmm?” he says, his expression giving nothing away.

She thinks about how thoroughly she misjudged him over the last few months, in contrast the way he seemed so easy to read – touching the back of his neck when he was nervous, losing catastrophically at Wicked Grace… And she thought of the way Justinia used to hold the Chant sometimes close to her eyes, sometimes far away, always keeping herself in practice to employ deception if the moment was right.

There was so much more to Cullen Rutherford than first met the eye. And she looked forward to getting to know all of him.

“Never mind,” she says. “We can discuss it later.”

“Good. There’s something else I wanted to tell you now.”

She must look alarmed, because Cullen goes behind her and gives her shoulders a reassuring squeeze, chuckles. “It’s nothing terrible. Just that I think you’re rubbing off on me.”

His strong hands continue down her back, kneading out the tension in her shoulder blades before dipping lower. Her breath catches in her throat. Oh, Maker. From all their time fighting together, he could have observed the muscles she strains, but that still doesn’t explain how he seems to know exactly how to touch her. “What do you mean?”

“Your distaste for pretense at parties. Having to stand here and try to behave myself in front of all these people.” As he speaks, he’s trailing kisses down her neck. She can’t suppress a gasp when she feels a tug of his teeth at her collar. “When all I want to do is take you away from here and have my way with you.”

“Plagiarist,” she says, recognizing the last phrase. “So you did receive my message.”

“After Josephine showed it to everyone else first, yes.” He smiles against the curve of her neck, and she can barely concentrate on what he’s saying as his hands wander further and further down to graze her hips. “You were quite specific about a few other things too. Do you remember?”

“Every word.” Turning to face him, she sees from the look in his eyes that he does too. “But start there, Cullen. Now.”

* * *

 

They go to his quarters almost at a run. It is, in his words afterwards, spectacularly rough sex. He pins her against the door, slamming it shut. It catches on the edge of his coat, and she hears the fabric rip as he pulls himself free. He’s no gentler with her clothing, or for that matter anything else in the vicinity. They’ve both waited too long to take their time now. They don’t make it anywhere near the ladder leading to his bed, much less up it. With a sweep of his arm, he knocks everything off his desk and pushes her backwards on top of it. She gasps as he lavishes his mouth over every inch of her skin, from neck to heel to deeper places he discovers one by one. Later they’ll find smudges of ink on them both that don’t wash off for days. But for tonight, she gives in to every desire made stronger by every time she’s had to hold back. Ink runs off the side of his desk, onto the maps crumpled and scattered on the floor, along with calculations and strategies and disaster scenarios they no longer need. One thing is over, and another begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys guys I got so excited when I figured out that Cullen secretly saves Blackwall from execution because then when Cassandra accepts Cullen’s proposal OMG IT’S THE MARRIAGE OF JUSTICE AND MERCY.
> 
> This story is done! Probably the best relationship advice I ever received (from a friend whose love story I based parts of Chapter Nine on) was that you shouldn’t look for someone to complete you; you should complete yourself, and then you’ll be ready for your significant other. Here I wanted to contrast that with how interdependent Cassandra and Cullen end up because their differences balance them out so well. Also I wanted Cassandra in particular to have to struggle through a lot of confusion and contradictory emotions along the way. As much as I loved writing this, I’m ever so relieved to have made it to their stupendously happy ending!
> 
> It meant to the world to me to have your company as I was working this out. Thank you so much for commenting, and for reading! This is for you!


End file.
